


Folio

by Lightbulbs



Category: Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Book 03: Oathbringer Spoilers, Character Study, Don't copy to another site, Fashion & Couture, Gen, Illustrations, Post-Book 03: Oathbringer, Radiant Adolin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-14 05:47:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20595701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightbulbs/pseuds/Lightbulbs
Summary: “Adolin’s style had changed. He had changed.”A look at Adolin's life in five outfits.





	Folio

_1\. The Uniform _

Adolin would never forget the time he first tried on his uniform. He usually wore wrinkled, stained shirts and pants when working with Master Zahel, which was fine given that he always left practice covered in crem. But a military jacket had panache.

His mother knew of his love of clothing, so she’d arranged for a tailor to come take measurements for his first uniform. This wasn’t the norm—why bother tailoring an outfit meant to be destroyed in battle?—but no one questioned it. Who would go against the son of the Blackthorn?

Adolin had fun chatting with the tailor about sewing, and he asked her question after question. Why wasn’t the jacket flared? What if the lapels were just a bit bigger? She smiled at him before she left, promising him a peek at the latest fashion folio when she saw him again.

Even after all that, right before trying on his uniform, Adolin had worried. After a late growth spurt had ruined the fit of his favorite shirt, he wasn’t sure how he’d look.

He was shocked to see himself in the mirror, blue fabric matching the blue of his eyes.

The tailor had done a fantastic job. His pant legs fit precisely into his sleek, military-issue boots, fabric gathering at the knee, and his double-breasted jacket didn’t pull at the seams. This left his movements unrestricted, and he was able to practice his sword with ease.

He looked good, and he felt good, and all his uniforms were tailored from that point on.

Adolin loved the Alethi military style. It was clean and precise, with creases laying just so and glyph patches sewn to sleeves with exacting care. The fabric was rough, a bit coarsely woven, but that only added to its appeal. This was fabric meant for _ doing, _for thriving on the dusty plateaus and soaking in the grime of battle. It worked just as well for waging war as it did for sipping wine.

Not everyone felt the same way about their uniform. Some soldiers wore theirs sloppily, letting drink dribble onto collars and leaving torn fabric unmended. They stormed battlefields like vagrants, letting their revelries become part of their clothing as they lingered in excess.

His father was the exception. The occasional bit of wrinkling, the fabric splotched with blood: they were marks of accomplishment, signifiers of him getting things done. 

To Adolin, the uniform was so much more than style. It was evidence of him working towards his Calling—dueling with Shardblades and waking up with Mishim overhead watching his early-morning practice. It was a reminder of the Alethi path towards victory.

_2\. The Funeral Outfit_

Adolin scowled at the mirror, his eyes red-rimmed. He hated this outfit, hated it _ so much. _And yet, that’s what made it perfect to wear to a funeral.

The cut was all wrong, but the wrongness was necessary. His life had been cast into disarray, so why shouldn’t his clothing fit the way he felt in his own skin? Hastily thrown together, fraying at the seams?

He didn’t bother matching colors. He didn’t try to tailor anything. Idly, he wondered if his disinterest in his appearance was somehow showing his mother disrespect. She’d always encouraged him to explore his love of fashion. Shouldn’t he be the best-dressed one at the funeral?

No, that’s not what fashion was about. Fashion was expression. He stayed in his hated outfit, letting the wrinkles and crooked hems give words to his sorrow.

_3\. The Travel Outfit_

He’d gotten the idea from an old folio he’d borrowed from Jasnah, a historical record of ancient garb. Older styles were making a comeback, with the fashion-minded looking beyond the sleek cuts found in Roshar’s larger cities. Thaylen styles in particular were appealing for how they played with contrasts: baggy pants, fitted tops, short and long draping.

Adolin mulled this over as he worked on pulling together an ensemble, assessing all the pieces provided by Captain Ico, the spren whose ship he and the others were currently chartering. He had some nice material to work with, some good woven linens and richly dyed cotton. Luckily, the spren didn’t mind him destroying the old clothes. He was free to play with silhouettes—and to recover from mistakes.

Adolin felt like he was making a lot of mistakes lately.

The end result was a vintage Thaylen look, with cut-off trousers tucked into boots and a baggy shirt accentuated by a burgundy waistcoat. He’d added a wide belt and scarf to give it more of a modern flair. Even though his signature color was blue, the warm tones in the outfit looked nice against his skin.

He presented his outfit to Captain Ico first. The spren complimented his style, and Adolin felt a surge of pride. He wondered if his outfit was something the spren saw as familiar, something he knew from the old days. Before he could ask, though, the spren spoke of responsibility, of heavy life burdens, and Adolin almost felt the effort of putting his outfit together wasn’t worth it.

The response from Kaladin, though, that flabbergasted, almost angry demand at how Adolin had managed his look… _ That _was worth it.

_4\. The Wedding Outfit_

Even though his wedding date approached with the swiftness of an oncoming highstorm, Adolin was ready. He had been thinking of what he’d wear ever since the betrothal. Before, marriage had been something for other people. Then Shallan had appeared, and he’d realized just how wrong he’d been.

The biggest question was whether to go traditional, or to do something modern. Their outfits had to make a statement, least of all to show status to the Alethi nobles. Shallan was marrying into the Kholin family, and although his father’s…unusual…wedding had its own flair, there were certain expectations to be upheld.

Vedan styles usually played it safe, and Alethi fashion had a specific cut, particularly in men’s dress fashion. Neither really appealed to him, but he also knew that he had to make things special for Shallan. It wasn’t just about him anymore. She said she didn’t care what they wore, but Adolin didn’t believe that.

The influx of people from all over Roshar meant that styles were mixing, and fast. Clever tailors were building up their folios with influences from all nations. Adolin liked that. He liked that everyone contributed something, and fashion became more exciting as a result.

But still… It wouldn’t do to have Shallan wear something traditional while he looked like he’d just returned from a trip to Shinovar.

In the end, it was a compromise. The Knights Radiant, reborn after so many years, bringing ancient magic into the new age. A nod to the past, even as things changed. They’d wear something so traditional, it would be a breath of fresh air.

At the ceremony, Shallan wore a gown of deep sapphire, a beautiful dress cut to her slim frame. She donned a golden vest and headdress, and her hair was plaited and dressed with gold. Adolin’s own suit, made of a similar blue fabric, had long tails to the jacket to match her drooping sleeves. While her dress was illuminated by rubies, bringing out the fiery shine of her hair, his suit was studded with flecks of yellow topaz. Combined with two golden epaulets and the golden tassels on his shoes, he felt like sunlight, radiant to her Radiance.

_5\. The Radiant Outfit_

Adolin’s style had changed. _He_ had changed.

He still loved military crispness; he still appreciated a good waistcoat. But now his life was different. His sartorial choices shifted likewise.

He already knew how to sew, at least enough to tweak his old wardrobe. Speaking with his tailor, who had survived the fall of Alethkar and had made her way to one of the nearby towns thanks to some keen-eyed Windrunners scouting the surrounding areas, he now had the skills needed to create new clothes from whole cloth. Mostly he liked to reinvent things.

He’d added decorative soles to his favorite boots, gilded, with the Kholin glyph burned into them. They helped a little with keeping him from gliding too fast, though he was still learning how to use Abrasion. Lift said they looked stupid. He said she didn’t have a fashionable bone in her body. (Her spren agreed.)

As for pants, he found that too wide a leg would scoop up air like a sail, sending him off-course. He’d tightened the fit, making them snug even without high boots, like breeches. He’d tried to get Bridgeboy to wear a similar pair, explaining they’d help when he was flying, but the man was stubborn.

Adolin kept his blue military-style jacket, curving the lapel and removing a row of buttons. He made sure to sew pocket after pocket to the inside of the front piece, giving plenty of space for spheres to be hidden away. As a healer, he needed more Stormlight than most, and he’d be damned if he’d let anyone else die on his watch.

When he looked in the mirror, the overall impression wasn’t too dissimilar from where he began: in uniform, with crisp creases and a tailored fit. But it was the details that brought his outfit to life, the design decisions informed by his experiences. He was a soldier, a son, a husband. A Radiant. 

He intended to look good as he saved the world.


End file.
